


You Were the One Thing I Got Right

by froyobro



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Angst, Disabled Characters, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Insecure Steve Rogers, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Some Humor, Some fighting, Steve Rogers Feels, wholesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 19:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froyobro/pseuds/froyobro
Summary: Steve Rogers thought he knew his boundaries. He followed a code unspoken to any of his small handful of friends; it was necessary to follow if he wanted to get through high school with his sanity and self-preservation intact.Of course, he broke his own personal rules almost constantly.First, stay out of trouble.Second, keep your business to yourself.Third, and this was a must: do not get crushes on anyone, male, female, or anywhere on the gender spectrum. It would be setting himself up for failure, seeing as he was an embarrassing specimen to behold on the best of days. Do NOT get your hopes up, Steven Grant Rogers.But he was only human.





	1. It's Not the Fucking Olympics

**Author's Note:**

> Stucky high school AU!!! I hope you all like it, I just wrote this on a whim because i was bored and I seriously love these characters being innocent and having fun. Warning, there's some non-specific violence so if you try to avoid that type of stuff I wouldn't recommend reading the first chapter. This was unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. I don't own any of these characters.

            Steve Rogers thought he knew his boundaries. He followed a code unspoken to any of his small handful of friends; it was necessary to follow if he wanted to get through high school with his sanity and self-preservation intact.

            Of course, he broke his own personal rules almost constantly.

            First, stay out of trouble. Kind of difficult to do when he sees anyone givin’ another kid grief over something stupid like having glasses or not fitting into the social norms (or if their lungs were weak, if they actually knew the answer in class, if they were short and scrawny…).

            Second, keep your business to yourself. This one was easier to handle at school since Steve can keep himself sealed tighter than a sub under scrutiny from his bullies. But, his mother always read him so easily. He didn’t mind breaking this rule for his ma.

            Third, and this was a _must_ : do not get crushes on _anyone_ , male, female, anywhere on the gender spectrum. It would be setting himself up for failure, seeing as he was an embarrassing specimen to behold on the best of days. Do _not_ get your hopes up, Steven Grant Rogers.

            But he was only human.

***

            Bucky Barnes thought he knew himself well enough to survive high school. After all, he was pretty personable and reasonably athletic, and he knew how to at least pass his classes. He thought he was good at avoiding trouble.

            Of course, he wasn’t perfect.

            First, don’t encourage or enable any fights between his teammates, even if they’re major dicks. This one was a little hard to follow, especially when Buck would be walking down the halls and watch them pick on a kid just because he didn’t align with the cookie-cutter mold this fucking town forced down their throats since they were kids. He couldn’t stand by and watch, so he usually distracted his friends and pulled them away from the poor kid they chose to bully that day.

            Second, don’t tell anyone but close friends anything about yourself that may be even halfway personal. One time he let slip that he watched porn (he’s _seventeen,_ for crying out loud) and the whole school sort of grinned at him for a whole month, muttering, “not as perfect as he wants us to think…” Trust Bucky, he knows he’s far from perfect.

            Third, and this was a matter of _utmost_ importance: focus on football and baseball and don’t get distracted by distracting people. His future depended on a scholarship and if a person were there to sidetrack him from all the work he put in, all for which he strived could disappear like smoke through his fingers.

            But he was only human.

***

            Monday mornings were Steve’s favorite time of the school week. He got to school about an hour before first bell ushered everyone to class, and holed himself in the art room, focusing on his portfolio and listening to his crappy music in peace. The ride in the subway was full of mellow people, most of which still too asleep to pay him any mind. When no one was paying attention to Steve, he was most happy.

            He unlocked the door with his own personal key that Mrs. Bergman gave him in his second week of sophomore year and went through his large folder, looking for his abstract art piece that had to be ready by Friday for the annual school showing. He was uncomfortable with abstract art, to say the least. He’d sketch people and landscapes all the time if he could, but Mrs. Bergman always pushed him to go outside his comfort zone. “They’re not going to coddle you at NYU, Steve.”

            Not like he’d ever get into NYU, but it was the kind of no-nonsense encouragement he needed.

            So far, the canvas was completely filled with his sketch and odd bits of shading. He had to start planning what to fill in with his conté crayons. It was an abstract image of a sunset, one of his favorite things to draw since he first picked up a pencil and paper. Of course, his sketch was only an outline and he would have to smudge and improvise and do all of the things at which he was _horrific._ By the time he finished marking in his little art notebook what he wanted to do, a half hour passed and there was a knock at the door of the art room. Steve turned, saw red hair and then brown hair, and then turned back to his notebook, looking over any possible bad ideas.

            Of course, he thought everything he did was a bad idea, so he just sighed and shut the notebook, putting away his things and heading out the door. Natasha and Peggy were there smiling and giving him grief.

            “Only you would come in early on a Monday morning,” Nat wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.

            “Hey!” Steve struggled under her grip. “No kiss marks today, I got a lot of shit from the usual goons last Friday.”

            Nat just ruffled his hair and Peggy looked like she was going to punch one of those “goons.”

            “Steve, why didn’t you tell us?” Peggy stepped in front of the two and Nat actually rolled her eyes. She was planted in spot like a tree, as if daring with her glare to say, “You move.” 

            Nat raised her eyebrow at the other girl with impeccable red lipstick and hair in a ponytail that fell down her back in elegant curls. “Peggsy, babe, you know Stevie doesn’t like us sticking up for him.”

            Steve finally managed to wriggle out from under her grasp. He straightened his hair and glared at Nat for the baby name. “Yeah, I can deal with my own problems.”

            Peggy huffed as if she couldn’t believe how stupid that sounded, then dragged him by his backpack straps to homeroom. “You drive me crazy, Steven.”

            Steve managed a rueful grin. “You drive me crazy, too, Margaret.” He even gave a little eyebrow wiggle. Nat pushed his shoulder.

            “Walkin’ on thin ice, Rogers.”

            Steve just gave her an impish smile before getting Peggy to let go of his backpack so he could walk without any hindrance (besides his shitty physique).

            “Steve Rogers!”

            Steve turned around and saw his best friend, Sam, hurdling towards him. Sam was a big guy, and when he picks you up and crushes you in a hug, you have no choice but to stay still until he was done. So that’s what Steve did.

            “My man, what’d you do this weekend?” Steve didn’t have a cell phone, much to the chagrin of his friends, who, when they only _really_ needed to talk to Steve, called his home phone.

            “Nothin’ much, drew, played video games. Homework.”

            Sam’s smile fell. “Boring. Next weekend there’s a party, afterwards you can sleep over my place. You know my parents like you more than me.”

            Steve followed his group into homeroom and took his usual spot next to Nat and Sam, Peggy in front of him so he could play with her hair. “Your ma likes me because I help her cook and your dad likes me because I understand what he’s saying when he talks about baseball.”

            Sam snorted at that. “Yeah, well, you’re coming over.”

            Steve leveled him with his signature “Are You Kidding Me” look. “I am not going to a party.”

            Nat, Peggy, and Sam said in perfect, scary unison, “Yes you are.”

            Steve rolled his eyes and told Peggy to turn around so he could run his hands through her curls, effectively ignoring his friends.

***

            The rest of the day went by without any major happenings. Well, until gym class.

            AKA: the class that was specially crafted as Steve’s own personal hell.

            Sometimes he got out of things like the pacer and running laps because his fucking lungs wouldn’t function like a normal person’s. But even in less taxing sports like “capture the flag,” where, if you don’t think it’s the fucking Olympics, you can just stand around, there will always be those assholes who push Steve around when Mr. Carlson isn’t paying attention (which is pretty much all the time). His least favorite is football because he can’t hear for shit and always gets a ball to the face. Brock Rumlow or one of his weird posse are usually the culprits. “You should be used to getting balls to the face, faggot!”

            Steve usually just turns away from them with an eye-roll and tries to survive the next forty-five minutes without seeming like what they said bothered him.

            It also sucked when none of your friends were with you in the Worst Class Ever. That would have made it easier to cope, but things don’t usually work out for Steve Rogers.

            However, there was that one kid, the really popular one, who was just nice to everyone, including Steve, for some reason. James Barnes would sometimes bump him with his elbow (he couldn’t nudge Steve with his shoulder because Steve was too _fucking_ short) and say something like, “nice pass,” or else give advice on how better to hold a ball or block someone from getting that stupid flag.

            Steve would always look down and glare at his feet, mumbling an insincere “thanks.” He didn’t care how he did or what he could do better, because it was better to give no effort and attract no attention rather than actually try and realize that your best was still the worst.

            But Bucky didn’t care that Steve gave off hostile vibes. He probably saw Steve with pity and wanted to make himself feel better. He just kept pushing and pushing, even when Steve outright walked away when he saw Bucky approaching him.

            They never spoke during school, and they only had about three classes together, so Steve figured that if Bucky decided to turn Brock-Rumlow-Style hostile, then he could be avoided with relative ease.

            It was wholly un-ideal for Steve, dealing with this tall, overbearing person constantly during gym. Bucky Barnes with his stupid comments and stupid positivity and stupid smile and stupid tight shirts and—

            Fuck.

***

            Bucky Barnes really liked gym class. He had a lot of friends in that class (“like _every other class, James,”_ muttered a voice that sounded suspiciously like his obnoxious friend Tony Stark) and felt good after letting out a lot of his pent up energy.

            He had ADHD so gym class was a sort of release and he didn’t mind all of the pointless games one bit. He didn’t treat it like the fuckin’ Olympics, like Brock and his asshole crew, but he paid attention and had fun.

            He especially paid attention to Steve Rogers. He couldn’t help it! The kid was short and had difficulty with anything Mr. Carlson had on the agenda and Bucky just wanted him to have fun too. Rogers was closed off to say the least, keeping to himself and pissing off Rumlow’s crew whenever he acted unaffected by their teasing. Bucky was having a hard enough time not telling Rumlow to shut the fuck up as it was. Instead of starting shit, Bucky would usually run over to Steve and talk to him, maybe just a small encouraging comment or a helpful critique, but Steve was more closed off than anybody Bucky had ever met.

            Did that make him more determined to get Steve to like him? Or at least smile once?

            Maybe.

            Okay, totally.

            It didn’t help that Steve just seemed really cool. Bucky knew him from a few classes and the kid was smart as a whip, had a true gift when it came to art, and could really think on his feet when it came to comebacks. He was a firecracker, stuck in a compact, wiry, beautiful body, and his delicate features were—

            FUCK!!!

***

            So, gym class on Monday was just as horrible as every other time Steve was forced to attend. This time, Mr. Carlson had set up the nets for volleyball and Steve dragged his feet to one side of the net. His teammates were mostly uninterested but would put effort in just for the grade. On the other side of the net was basically the whole football team. Brock, his group of thugs, and Bucky, along with the fast exchange student, Pietro Maximoff.

            We all know this will turn out greatly.

            Steve stayed to the back and mostly focused on dodging Brock’s menacing spikes and ignoring their chuckles when Steve knocked himself on his ass avoiding a real hard hit. Bucky looked dissatisfied and muttered something to the guys. Brock sneered but shut up.

            Steve’s team was surviving and actually managed to get a few points, but it was obvious that Shield High’s football team had it in the bag.

            Then, one minute Steve was focusing on a bird that was flying outside, and next he was focusing on the blood all over his hands. Flowing from his nose. Aw, fuck.

            He tried to push himself off the gym floor without smearing blood anywhere, and someone was in front of him saying, over and over again, “Oh, shit. That’s”—there was a gag—“that’s a lot of blood. Steve, I’m so sorry. Shit.”

            That didn’t sound like Brock. Steve looked up and saw a queasy Bucky Barnes kneeling in front of him. “Hey, man. It’s okay, I’ve gotten a bloody nose before.” He could hear Brock and his buddies off somewhere laughing their hyena asses off. Bucky looked about ready to pass out.

            Steve steeled himself and got off his ass, not leaning into but not moving away from Bucky’s arm helping him up. “Listen, go splash some water on your face, you look like you’re gonna pass out,” Steve said, lifting his own head up in an effort to stop the blood flow.

            Bucky just looked up with him. “No, man, I’m—I’m good. Let’s get you to the nurse.”

            He got a note from Mr. Carlson and then led Steve to the nurse’s office. Bucky stopped at the locker room for about thirty paper towels and both of their backpacks before pressing the former into his face and slinging the latter over each shoulder.

            As Steve fidgeted under Nurse Hill’s poking and prodding, he noticed Bucky bouncing his legs frantically. This was common, and Steve knew because he could barely focus sometimes in English class listening to the _tap-tap-tapping_ of those feet.            

            “Listen, Barnes,” his head shot up and Steve winced at both the sudden attention and the pressure at which Hill pressed at his nose, “You can get outta here. I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you barfin’.”

            Bucky got up and walked over to Steve once Nurse Hill patched his nose up. “Is there any way I could make this up to you? I feel horrible.”

            “Besides physically?” Steve snorted. “You get queasy easier ‘n kids who eat spinach for the first time.”

            Bucky cracked a (charming) smile. “Yeah, well, for the record—I hate spinach too.”

            Steve looked down so he’d stop smiling back and focusing on those stupid dimples and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and nodding to Hill before all but running out of the office. It was no use, since Bucky was right on his heels.

            “I could buy you fries today.”

            “Not hungry.”

            “I could…” Bucky stopped talking to think while still keeping up the fast pace Steve was setting. “Money?”

            Steve shot him the “Are You Kidding Me” face.

            Bucky scratched his head. “Free tickets to the football game Friday night? There’s a party after, you know.”

            Steve grunted and stopped in his tracks, Bucky stopping just as frantically. “First, those games are easy enough to sneak into as it is, secondly, parties aren’t my scene. Look, just forget about it. You got too into fuckin’ volleyball. Nothin’ wrong with that, even though it’s a l’il weird.”

            Bucky grinned sheepishly. “I just get excited easily.”

            Steve avoided those magnetic eyes, focusing instead on the locker across from him. “Look, if you really care, just leave me alone. I already know I’m gonna get a lotta grief from your friends.”

            “Rumlow is _not_ my friend.” For the first time, Steve saw Bucky being serious.

            “Yeah, well. Whatever. See ya.” Before Bucky could say anything else, Steve launched himself into his Calc class.

***

            At lunch, Peggy, Nat, Sam, and Clint saw his face and instantly cornered him with about a thousand questions.

            “Guys, guys. I’m fine.” He grunted when Clint tried to poke his purple nose. He really liked purple. Nat swatted his hand away.

            “What in the fuck shit happened?” Sam asked incredulously.

            “During gym, one of the football guys had a killer spike. It was by accident.”

            Nat snarled, “Sure it was.”

            Peggy continued, placing a hand over Natasha’s in comfort. “Who did that to you, Steve?”         

            Steve glared at her. “I said it was by accident, Pegs. The guy didn’t mean it.”

            Sam didn’t care. “Rumlow? Rollins? Hughes? Barnes?”

            Something must have shown on Steve’s face at the last one because they all swore up and down to “fuck his face up.”

            That made it all the more awkward when Bucky Fucking Barnes dragged a chair over and plopped down right next to Steve, sliding French fries and a soda over to him.

            “Thought you’d be hungry by now.” He grinned at Steve and only noticed a beat later that four people (actually, three, since Clint was putting a Band-Aid on his finger) were glaring daggers at him.

            He sunk in his seat a little bit and played with his fingers in his lap. “Guys,” Steve snarled. “Knock it off. It was an accident.”

            They barely loosened up but started taking out their lunches. Steve pushed the fries between him and Bucky as a sort of “don’t pay attention to my dumbass friends” gesture. Bucky glanced up and cracked half of a self-deprecating smile.

            Clint broke the silence first by jumping into a conversation about dogs and pizza and was it unethical for him to feed his dog, Lucky, pizza? Everyone said yes. He didn’t care.

            Then Sam loosened up a bit and started asking Bucky questions, trying to be nice and include him. “So, man, tell us what you like to do.”

            Peggy interjected, “Also, why are you here?” It sounded pleasant enough but if you knew Peggy, you could hear the underscore of a threat. Nat grinned.

            Bucky sat up a little, bouncing his legs. “Well, you guys probably know I play football and stuff. Also,” he turned to Peggy, “I’m here because I feel shitty for accidentally smashing up Steve’s face.”

            “It _is_ a nice face,” Sam commented.

            Steve kicked him and said, “Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth and aim your comments on that crush of yours.”

            Sam grinned. “Aw, Stevie, but you’re my crush!”

            “False,” Steve clipped. “Your diary says otherwise.”

            Sam just smiled and turned back to Bucky. “How long have you been passin’ around the pigskin?”

            Clint made a disgusted face at the phrasing and instead focused on shoving more pizza into his mouth, swallowing it with coffee. (The group was sure that his addictions were extremely unhealthy.)

            “Since I was about six or seven. My dad played so he wanted me to play too.”

            “I hear you’re not half bad,” Natasha said, sounding uninterested but she was testing the waters, calculating behind those catlike emerald eyes of hers.

            Bucky didn’t notice her hostility and smiled, commenting, “I’m alright. I have great teammates.”

            “Like Rumlow?” Nat looked up from her nails to study him.

            He matched her gaze and replied, “Let’s just say we’re not buddies.”

            Seemingly satisfied, she nodded and started picking at her quinoa. Peggy and he shared a class so they talked about their crazy teacher. Conversation sort of flowed from there and Steve would interject with sarcastic comments at times, but mostly spoke with Sam with eyebrow raises and basically telepathy about Bucky. Bucky didn’t notice.

            No, he was just being personable with Steve’s friends and making himself comfortable with Steve’s group. It didn’t help that he’d look over at Steve when he made a stupid comment and snort or make a comment back, and their fingers would sometimes brush when they reached for fries at the same time.

            As Peggy noted the time (she was always punctual), the group got up and Bucky waved bye to everyone and headed to his football friends. But as the group headed out, Bucky ran back and grabbed Steve’s shoulder gently. “Look, I really am sorry about your nose. Are you still mad?”

            Steve snorted. “I wasn’t mad in the first place.”

            Bucky looked confused. His brows furrowed and a crease formed between his eyebrows. It was stupidly attractive and Steve mentally kicked himself. “Are you sure? Because—“

            “Buck! What the fuck?” Then there was a snort. “Hey, that rhymed! Let’s go Barnes, we got English.”

            Buck continued to look at Steve with utter confusion as he joined his football buds. Steve turned and jogged a little to catch up to his friends.

            Peggy nudged him. “He’s nice.”

            Sam hummed his agreement. Nat shrugged. Clint wasn’t paying attention—in fact, he purposely turned off his hearing aids because Nat kept talking about how harmful it was to feed a dog too much bread. In fact, how harmful it was to _eat_ too much bread.

            Steve just slouched his shoulders more, turning in on himself. “Whatever.”

***

            In English class, Bucky turned around to look at him before class started and smiled. Then, Ms. Danvers walked in and they both turned to attention at the front of the room. Danvers ran a tight ship. Bucky’s damn legs kept shaking.      

            The rest of class that was all Steve could focus on. When Ms. Danvers called on him with a question about “All Quiet on the Western Front,” Steve’s head shot up and he uttered eloquently, “Huh?”

            He wanted to face palm himself when Ms. Danvers levelled him with a look that said, “C’mon Steve.”

            “How did Remarque use nature throughout the novel?”

            Steve sputtered out some bullshit he knew was only half right and Ms. Danvers looked dissatisfied but continued on with the lesson nonetheless. Steve stopped focusing on Bucky’s legs and began to doodle in his notebook.

            When class ended, he bolted out of class before Bucky or Ms. Danvers could corner him and headed straight to history rather than stalling at his locker.

***

            When Monday was over, Steve was exhausted. He stayed after to continue with his portfolio and talked a little bit with Mrs. Bergman about his ideas for the sunset painting. She offered helpful suggestions which he jotted down quickly in his notebook.

            “Steve, they’re just suggestions. Trust in your instincts, I’m not always right. Art is—“

            “Fluid. I know. It’s “not just one thing, right or wrong, black or white, even when dealing with charcoal.” Har-har. I know.”

            Mrs. Bergman ignored his attitude and shrugged. “Okay.”

            Steve still felt guilty. “Sorry. Weird day today.” She just smiled knowingly. “I gotta catch the sub, but thanks, Mrs. Bergman.”

            “No problem, Steve.”

            Steve put his portfolio away and walked out the room, waving to his teacher before stopping at his locker and then getting out of the school. On the steps leading up to Shield High, Steve ran into people waiting outside for him. They weren’t Nat and Peggy.          

            “Hey, Rogers.”

            “Brock,” Steve muttered, trying to look for a free space to slip through, but his friends formed a pretty solid blockade on the narrow stairs.

            “That was pretty fuckin’ funny, what happened during gym.” As if on cue, some of the guys started chuckling.

            “Glad I could be a source of amusement for you.”

            Brock just grinned like a wolf. “You know, Steve, I really like you. You’re fuckin’ queer as shit, and you’re so dumb you make me and my friends laugh our asses off.”

            Steve glared down at his shoes, trying to keep his mouth shut and not get beat up today.

            Brock stepped closer, into Steve’s personal space. “Listen, leave Barnes alone. He’s dumb enough as he is, he don’t need some faggot squirt to fawn over. Also, your friend, um, brown hair? Killer rack? Lips meant for suckin’—“

            Steve couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to hear about what Rumlow would have propositioned next. His fist shot up and knocked him clear across the face. That was most likely the only hit he was gonna get in, but it was fuckin’ worth it. “Don’t talk about my friends that way.”

            Rumlow ran a thumb across his lip, grinning around the small trickle of blood. “This is why I like you, Stevie. You never know when to fuck off and listen to the adults.”

            Steve hit the ground, and there were punches and kicks thrown, and Steve tried to get up, he did, his ma didn’t raise him to lie down and take it. But at some point an asshole knocked his head against the steps and he saw black.

***

            Bucky just got out of practice. After a shower in the locker-room he just wanted to head home and hang out with his older sister, Rebecca, who was home from college. He was jogging down the steps and right on the bottom of the stairs was Brock and someone on the ground. Brock was on his cell and looking spooked as fuck, glaring at the person—oh shit, so much blood. When Brock saw Bucky, he ran down to the parking lot where his stupid fucking Jeep was. Bucky ran down and turned over the figure on the ground.

            “Steve. Shit.” Bucky heard sirens in the distance. Rumlow was at least smart enough to call the ambulance.

            Then, the beaten figure below him turned and winced. “Ah, fuck.”

            “Steve, don’t worry, help is coming. Oh, shit.” Bucky ran to the bushes real quick to retch. He really wasn’t good with blood. And a lot was coming out of Steve’s nose again. His eye was swollen. By the way he was breathing, Bucky figured his ribs or lungs weren’t in much better shape.

            Bucky was gonna rip Brock’s fucking face off.

            When the ambulance arrived Bucky had Steve sitting up in his lap. He didn’t know what to do besides hold him close and focus on anything besides his groans of pain and the _blood_. The paramedics immediately checked his vitals and hoisted him on the stretcher.

            “Do you know what happened?” The lady asked Bucky after taking his name down, her gloved fingers now pressing against Steve’s ribs. He yelped and tears welled in his eyes. Fuck.

            “Uh…” Bucky didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he wanted Brock to deal with the repercussions of his actions, but on the other, that was half the football team. “I think some guys beat him up but I didn’t get a good look at them. I was just leavin’ football practice and I saw ‘im at the bottom of the stairs.”

            The lady looked unconvinced, as if _Bucky_ did this, but she left without asking anything else. Bucky watched the ambulance drive away to the hospital. He had Steve’s blood on his shirt.

***

            Steve’s ma was gonna kill him. If he didn’t die by the broken rib or broken nose and possible concussion, she was gonna tear him apart.

            Of course she was working when Steve came in but couldn’t help because medical professionals weren’t allowed to treat close friends and family. She paced outside the hospital room he was in and when the doctors were done bandaging him, she rushed in and grasped his hands almost painfully.

            “Honey, are you okay? What happened?”

            “Ma, keep it down. My head hurts, okay?” Steve acted all put upon, but he squeezed her hands. “I’m okay. Some guys started to say shi—stuff about Peggy.”

            She set him with a hard glare. “So you spoke with your fists.”

            “Ma! You should’ve heard the things they said!”

            She glared but let it go for now in favor of pushing his hair away from his eyes and kissing him on the forehead. “At least you’re okay.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            She knew he was talking about the bills they were going to receive. She just patted his hand comfortingly. “I’ll just start workin’ doubles again, honey. It’s okay.”

            Steve tried to find comfort in her words, but found himself sinking further into self-hatred because he brought this upon himself. 

 


	2. Take You and Your Cute Face Away From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve went back to school literally the /day/ after he got the pulp beat outta him. He sorta fights with everyone today too, but it's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two literally the day after because I'm BORED and really like this AU so much!! Warning: Brock bein' a lil bitch at one point, but someone comes by before anything else could happen... Almost like, a knight in shining armor... Hmm... Interesting...  
> None of these characters are mine, creds to Marvel. Not beta'd so all mistakes are mine. :-) hev gud day!!

            So, Steve didn’t have a concussion.

            “Thank goodness!” His mother was sitting next to the hospital bed, still clasping his hands when the doctor explained what happened to Steve’s noggin.

            “Make sure not to do anything too strenuous, or that rib isn’t going to heal properly.”

            Steve nodded wordlessly, and, at seeing the doctor’s face turn more serious, he steeled himself for the question he knew was coming.

            “What happened, Mr. Rogers? And who did this?”

            Steve levelled him with a look. “I fell.”

            Mrs. Rogers hit his shoulder lightly with the back of her hand, and spoke up for Steve. “He got into a fight with a couple of kids from his school.”

            Steve wouldn’t call something that pathetic a fight; it was a brutal beating. Steve felt like a coward, weak and powerless. He didn’t say anything.

            The doctor continued talking, but Steve zoned out. He wondered who called the cops. He knew Bucky was there at one point. Did he beat Steve up, too? No, Steve didn’t see his face in the group of thugs. He had a major headache so he just pretended to doze off.

            His mother smoothed his hair back when the doctor left. Steve was always comforted when she did that. He felt that it was okay to be small for once. He didn’t let her know that but she knew.

            “Come on, Stevie, honey. I know you’re not sleeping.”

            Steve tried not to crack a smile, but he couldn’t help it. She chuckled too. “I’ll get your clothes and then we can go home. I’ll make Grammy’s Irish potato soup.” It was Steve’s favorite.

            “Ma, don’t baby me. I’m fine.” He was still smiling. He really loved his mom.

***

            The next day, he went in to work on his portfolio, but found his left hand hurt too much after throwing the punch to actually start on the canvas. “Aw, fuck,” he muttered. Brock was making his life shitty without even being present.

            Steve was now worried about finishing his abstract piece before Friday. Should he even use the conté crayons? Acrylic would be better. That would mean he’d have to start his planning over again. So, for the half hour, to pass the time he re-invented the colors and style of his abstract art to fit acrylics by jotting down a few ideas.

            Mrs. Bergman came in and took a look at his face, managing to hold back most of her shock and horror. “It wasn’t like that yesterday, was it?”

            Steve smiled (the cut on his lip stung, but he ignored it). “Ran into a locker. Locker fought back.”

            She rolled her eyes, then turned serious (as Steve predicted a few of his teachers would do today). “You know, if something’s happening, Steve, I’m not just here to hound you about finishing your pieces for your portfolio.”

            Steve managed a smile, even though he felt his heart crushing. All he got from people was pity. “Yeah, I know Mrs. Bergman. Thanks.”

            He packed up and rushed to homeroom, hoping to avoid the stares and a certain group of hyper-masculine assholes. When he got inside, Sam was already sitting down and talking with Nat. Peggy had student council Tuesday mornings.

            The two looked back for half a second and muttered a, “hey St—“ before doing a double-take. They rushed to him as if he looked about ready to fall to the ground (he felt fine, thanks).

            “Steve, what the FUCK?” Sam.

            “I will pay my uncles to snipe those assholes.” Nat.

            Steve shoved them off and took his seat, slouching in on himself. “I’m fine. Broken nose, broken rib, rotten bruises. That’s it. I’m fine.”

            He looked at them, raising his eyebrows as if saying, “You know what will happen if I speak up. Don’t be stupid.”

            Sam grunted and crossed his arms angrily. “I’m so mad.”

            Nat zoned in on him. “What happened? I mean, I know _who,_ but why?”

            “Got out the art room late, they got out of practice early. Started warnin’ me about not talking to Barnes—“

            Nat raised an eyebrow. “He wasn’t there?”

            Steve shook his head. “Anyways, they kept sayin’ shit about me but I didn’t care. I’m used to it, yano?” Natasha nodded at him to continue. “Then, and don’t freak out, I’m pretty sure he was just trying to rile me up, but—he said some stuff about Pegs.”

            “What about me?” Nat and Sam looked up at her, but Steve faced forward. He knew once she saw that she would fawn over him like he was a child.

            Nat made eye contact with Pegs, raised her eyebrows, and nodded towards Steve.

            Peggy looked confused, and then her face fell when she took in Steve’s. She instantly collapsed into her seat and took his face in her hands, turning him this way and that to examine the damage. He stayed still because it would really hurt like a motherfucker if he tried to pull away from her grip.

            It was quiet between the members of the group for a few seconds. Then: “Steven. This has to stop.” Peggy held his face so he was staring right into his eyes. He knew she wouldn’t let go until he agreed so he minutely nodded. He wasn’t serious, though. He just had to stick it out for another seven or eight months.

            Peggy let go and then squeezed his hands. Steve could tell Nat was bristling, she got easily jealous. So Peggy then took Nat’s face in her hands and pecked her quick. A little, “Thank you for your patience. Love you.” Nat grinned, then sat back in her seat all smug.

            Sam snorted, and the tension dissolved. “Gay.”

            Nat and Peg shrugged, unbothered. Steve always got flustered by PDA. He took out his notebook and drew, trying not to wince at the ache in his knuckles.

***

            Brock finally caught up to Steve before fifth period English. Brock had been glaring daggers at Steve the whole day, but Steve had steered clear. There was no avoiding him now, however.

            He waited until the hallway cleared and then pressed Steve against the lockers, his forearm against his throat. Steve’s feet weren’t touching the ground. “Say anything and you’ll feel a thousand times worse than you do now.”

            They both heard footsteps running their way, so Rumlow dropped Steve to the ground, coughing and clutching his throat.

            Bucky ambled around the corner, a ball of energy, when he saw the two guys. He stopped in his tracks and Brock walked past him, shoving his shoulder hard so Barnes stepped back a step or two. Bucky ran to Steve and helped him up. “Nurse?”

            Steve shook his head. “’M fine. Le’s go t’English.” He was talking a little funny, trying to catch his breath. “Can you—can you get my inhaler?” Steve turned around so Bucky could rummage through his backpack. “Front pocket.”

            He took two hits, accompanied by deep breaths. They rattled a little and Steve winced because his rib was making its pain known.

            “You sure you don’t need to go to the nurse’s office?”

            Steve just glared at him and trudged across the hall to English. “I ain’t a coward, ‘m fine.”

            Buck wanted to say more, but they both received a death glare from Mrs. Danvers. Steve was grateful they didn’t have to go to the vice principal’s office but embarrassed by the fact that she made the two stand in front of the classroom and talk for a few minutes about “All Quiet on the Western Front.”

            After class, Bucky sidled next to Steve and looked incredibly worried. “Are you okay? I wanted to go to the hospital, but my parents wanted me home. I’m so sorry.”

            Steve just shouldered his bag and didn’t even look at Bucky’s face, predicting the look of worry and pity he would see. “Thanks for callin’ the cops. Prolly would have been in worse shape without ya.”

            “Uh, well. Brock actually called. But I stayed with ya til the ambulance arrived.”

            “Same thing. Thanks.”

            Bucky shrugged it off. “You know, I’m gonna talk to Brock. What he does, not just to you but a lot of kids—“

            “’M not a kid. And don’t say shit to Brock.” Steve stopped in front of Bucky. “He beat me up because he wanted me to back off you, not get you to mother me more. So just do us both a favor and fuck off.”

            Bucky looked hurt. Steve felt like shit. But it was what he had to do if he wanted things to go back peacefully. Before Bucky could say something back, Sam joined.

            “Sup Buck.” Sam nodded in his direction and then turned to Steve. “So, last night my mom reminded me that you had that art thing on Friday and that’s why you don’t wanna go to the party or the game but I figured it out.”

            Bucky stood up straight, suddenly interested in the conversation. “Huh?”

            Steve glared at him, as if saying “what did I just (rudely) tell you?”

            Sam just turned more toward him and said, “I’ve been tryin’ to get this knucklehead to do something fun for once, this Friday.”

            Bucky grinned. “I was buggin’ him about the same thing yesterday, man!”

            They high-fived and then both turned towards Steve. Sam continued what he was saying to him. “So I was thinking: you stay at the art thing until it ends—and I know it ends at nine so don’t think about lying to me. When that’s over, the football game would probably be over.” He turned to Bucky. “Right?”

            Bucky nodded, “Give or take a half hour.”

            “So we’d just go from school to Stark’s place for the party. Then, yay, fun Steve has fun!”

            Steve grunted and turned towards his next class. The two guys took a spot on either side of him. Bucky said, “I wish I could go to the art show. Sounds cool.”

            Steve snorted despite himself. “Yeah, sure, if you’re into people being fake deep.”

            “Um, doesn’t that include you, Stevie boy?” Sam replied, grin evident in his voice.

            “Exactly. I’m an asshole, you know this.”

            Sam wrapped his arm around Steve, and the smaller boy had to hide his wince. Bucky picked it up but said nothing. “Yeah, but you’re my asshole.”

            Steve glared up at him and then pretended to see someone ahead of him. “Oh, hey Maria!”

            Sam instantly stopped short and his arm fell from Steve’s shoulders. Bucky snorted. Then, Sam glared at Steve. “I hate you.”

            Steve grinned his shit-eating grin.

            “So. Friday. Party. An hour, Steve. That’s all I’m asking!” Sam begged.

            Steve raised an eyebrow. “Half hour.”

            “Forty-five minutes.”

            “Deal.”

            Bucky chuckled. Steve kind of forgot he was there (no, he didn’t). Sam turned to his class with a wave, and that left Steve and Bucky in the middle of the hallway. Bucky said, “Listen. I know you think I pity you or—or whatever, but that’s not it at all.”

            Steve didn’t believe him and made sure it showed on his face. “Then what is it?”

            If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think he saw Bucky blush. It was probably hot in the hallway anyway. “I don’t know. You’re cool.”

            “You’ve known me a day.”

            “False, I’ve known you since freshmen year, and started talking to you for a day.”

            Steve honestly didn’t know what to say to that. What does he say to that?? “You stalkin’ me or somethin’?”

            Bucky laughed, then got quiet. “Hey, do you think I could look at some of your art? Since I can’t go to the show Friday.”

            “Barnes—“

            “Call me Bucky.”

            “Barnes, I told you to fuck off less than five minutes ago.”

            “I’ll stop by the art room after school, since practice starts a little late today.” Bucky was walking away to his last period class.

            Steve yelled after him, “Yeah well, I won’t be there!”

            “See ya, Stevie.”

            “Don’t call me that!”

            He could tell Bucky was grinning as he turned the corner. Steve huffed and headed to science class.

***

            After school, Steve passed the art room and indeed Bucky was in there, looking at all the art on the walls. Steve had a few up there. Steve was about to sneak away when Bucky turned at the sound of sneakers on linoleum.

            “Steve! I think I saw one of yours up here.”

            Rolling his eyes, Steve reluctantly entered the room. Mrs. Bergman was at her desk, typing at her computer. Bucky probably talked to her and said something nice because her cheeks were heated and she was trying to quell her smile. Why can Bucky Barnes charm the pants off of _anyone_? It’s not fair.

            Steve grunted in the affirmative when Bucky pointed at the portrait of Nat. And then Bucky got it right again at the charcoal rendering of Central Park. Before he could point at another, Steve interrupted. “Berg showed them to you.”

            Bucky had at least the decency to look sheepish. He shrugged. Steve rolled his eyes and half-smiled before walking to his portfolio folder. He didn’t see Bucky instantly light up when Steve smiled.

            Steve sat down and took some sketches out. Bucky plopped at his side almost excitedly and started bouncing his legs. Steve wanted to reach out and put a hand on his knee. You know, so Buck would stop shaking his leg. No other reason…

            It was quiet between the two of them as Bucky scrutinized each piece. When he raised an eyebrow at the colorful skeleton with a top hat.

            “I—I know they’re not that great, but I like doin’ it.”

            Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, still looking incredulously at the art. “Steve. These are amazing. I don’t know shit about art ‘sides the mandatory class freshmen year, but I know these are genius.”

            Steve looked down at his lap and fiddled with his fingers. The tips of his ears were pink. Bucky smiled, then jumped out of his seat in panic when he saw the time. “I gotta go to practice. But I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

            In a rush, Steve put all his pieces away and raced after Bucky. “Wait!” Bucky stopped just as quickly. Steve looked down at his feet. “I just. Why are you doin’ this? You ain’t gonna get anythin’ out of it, ‘cept grief from Brock and his pals. ‘N it’s not lookin’ so hot for me either.”

            Bucky grabbed Steve’s shoulders (gently, and man, those hands are so _huge_ , like trashcan lids!). “You’re my friend now. I got your back. Brock is too thick to pay much attention to us anyways. The guy is too focused on his own reflection and making sure no one thinks he’s gay.”

            Steve was looking at Bucky’s chest. It was level with his face. Muscles. NO! FOCUS! “Well, you’re lucky my friends like you. If they didn’t, you wouldn’t survive a day.”

            Bucky grinned and then ruffled Steve’s hair playfully. He started jogging to the locker room. “See ya tomorrow, Stevie!”

            Steve smoothed down his hair with annoyance and maybe a hint of joy. An _ounce_ at most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments!! LMK how you are and what you think <33


	3. No One Could Have Predicted That Or Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous Friday night, and the days that led up to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo!!!! Uploading /again/ because I love putting off actual work and staying in this fantasy land. Perfect. Hope y'all enjoy this chapter! (As I was writing this, I got the urge to write paragraphs about how beautiful Sam Wilson is. Guys. He's just so beautiful.) None of these characters belong to me. Enjoy!! Love you guys!!

The next three days were a blur. Steve stayed early, stayed late, and worked during free periods on his art. He even skipped lunch one day, but Bucky and Nat joined him as he painted. The two grew less hostile towards each other, especially when Buck offhandedly mentioned his Russian grandma. Nat shot up, saying, “My grandma’s Russian!”

            They ranted and giggled and talked about things that all Russian grandmothers must do, and Steve stayed quiet but found it rather amusing.

            After school, Buck would stay after with him for a little bit to watch, mesmerized, as Steve’s delicate hands gently stroked the canvas with his paintbrush. Bucky was late both Tuesday and Wednesday.

            Brock gave Steve glares in the hallways, but Steve didn’t miss his purpling eye. He pulled Bucky aside after English on Thursday. “Did you have anything to do with Rumlow’s fucked-up face?”

            Bucky managed a near-perfect poker face (that Steve could read right through). “Did Rumlow have anything to do with _your_ fucked-up face?”

            Steve knew Bucky intended it as ‘you don’t admit it, then I don’t admit it.’ But, just to be a self-deprecating dipshit, “No, those were the genetics on Dad’s side.”

            Bucky’s smug face fell. “What the hell Steve?”

            “I was just kiddin’.”

            “Yeah, _sure_ didn’t seem like you meant it.” Bucky shoved his shoulder. “You’re aces, Stevie.”

            Steve just looked down at his shoes. “No one says “aces” anymore, Barnes. It ain’t the 1940’s.”

            “Stop changin’ the subject, punk.”

            The bell saved Steve from any more of _that_ conversation.

***

            Sam gave Bucky the number to Steve’s home phone. He knew because on Thursday night Bucky Barnes called his house. What???

            His ma answered first. “Hello? Rogers residence.”

            “Uh, hi Mrs. Rogers,” a deep, nervous voice said on the other side. “Is—is Steve busy?”

            “STEVE! YOUR FRIEND IS ON THE PHONE!”

            From the kitchen in their tiny apartment, Mrs. Rogers could hear her son shuffle out of bed and pad towards the kitchen. He smiled at his mom and then answered. “Hello?”

            “Steve! Hey!”

            “Buc—Barnes?”

            “Sam gave me your number. I wanted to talk to ya.”

            Steve’s heartrate picked up. He thought about grabbing his inhaler. “Uh, ‘bout what?”

            He could almost _hear_ Bucky shrug. “Dunno. What’re you doin’ right now?” Steve rolled his eyes. “I can hear you rollin’ your eyes.”

            “Shut up, jerk.”

            “Punk.”

            Steve sighed, trying not to smile. His ma was sitting at the table, going through the bills, but he could tell she was listening because she was grinning. “I _was_ reading for Danvers’s class, but _someone_ interrupted me.”

            Without skipping a beat, Bucky commented, “Wow, that person sounds like an asshole.”

            “You’re not wrong.”

            Bucky just laughed. This guy laughed more in a day than Steve would in a week, maybe a month. “So, you excited for the party Friday?”

            “Oh, yeah! Totally! I’m, like, thrilled!” Steve’s mom rolled her eyes, and so did Bucky, probably (Bucky Barnes did indeed roll his eyes).

            “I don’t know what’s got ya so worked up. It’ll be fun! You’ll have friends like me, Sam, Nat, Peg, and even Clint, and he’s crazier than all of you!”

            Steve wanted to argue on Clint’s behalf, but Bucky was saying it lightheartedly, and, more importantly, he was right. “I’m not a fan of the drugs and smoke and loud music. It makes my asthma act up.” Not to mention his brain got foggy and he got dizzy and people are so _weird_ at parties.

            There was a considerate “hmm” at the other end. “I get that. But, like, you could chill outside.”

            “Buck, it wouldn’t matter. Most of the people there aren’t too fond of me or they think I don’t belong somewhere like that. I don’t feel like dealin’ with idiots.”

            “But you deal with me every day.”

            “Barely!”

            Again, laughter. Steve snorted, too, despite himself.

            “Listen, I’ll be there and I will make _sure_ you have fun.” Bucky sounded passionate. “It’s senior year for cryin’ out loud! Enjoy it while it lasts, right?”

            “Oh yeah, I’ve really been enjoyin’ it so far.”

            “Punk.”

            “Jerk.”

            “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

            “See ya.”

            _Click._

Steve rested his forehead on the wall as he put the phone back in its place. His mom spoke up. “I like him. Seems nice.”

            There was a groan from the pathetic loser known as Steven Rogers. Bucky Barnes was spreading his little web of personable-ness around his friends and family. And it was slowly infecting Steve as well.  

_***_

            Friday inevitably rolled around and Steve was filled with anxiety. He got to school earlier than usual, and put the finishing touches on his sunset. By seven thirty, a few minutes before Nat and Peg would walk in, he was looking down at it. The more he looked, the more errors he found. His fingers itched to just rip it up and he wanted to cry. He wouldn’t cry.

            The girls found him just glaring down at the canvas, and they recognized this stage of Steven Rogers Finishing Art Pieces all too well. They looped an arm on either side of him and chattered on about this or that (the party and Bucky), effectively distracting him for a little bit from his worry.

            Sam picked up on Steve’s anxiety as well (Nat gave him a _look_ ) and immediately started haggling him. His friends knew how to help Steve Rogers without him freaking out. They all hated his stupid complex about having to be strong all the time.

            During class, however, Steve would doodle and his mind would wander and he was steeling himself to go to Mrs. Bergman and explain just why they shouldn’t showcase any of Steve’s work that night.

            Bucky noticed something was off with Steve, so he walked with him to his locker after English. Steve hastily stuffed some tattered, cheap notebooks into his bag and trudged to the art room. Bucky perked up, and didn’t mind missing more lunch time to see Steve in his element.

            Steve wasn’t really paying attention to Bucky loping behind him and so he didn’t think about his reaction when he said to Mrs. Bergman, “I can’t show my art tonight.”

            Both Berg and Bucky turned towards him in surprise and astonishment, saying in unison, “WHAT?”

            Steve glared at both of them and then walked to get his portfolio. He held up his sunset to the two and said, “This isn’t good enough.” He walked towards the trash, and immediately the other two in the room jumped into action. Bucky ripped the sunset painting out of his grip (as gently as he could) and put it up above his head so Steve couldn’t reach.

            Mrs. Bergman was right there, trying a calming tone. “Steve, you know this happens every time an artist prepares to show new work. Don’t waste all that time and effort.”

            Steve jumped towards Bucky’s outstretched hand, but the guy steeled himself and was now as moveable as a wall. He wouldn’t budge and Steve simply wasn’t tall enough.

            “Berg. I—I can’t! People’ll laugh.”

            She held onto his shoulders to settle him. “Steven, no one would laugh. What you made with your imagination and talent is amazing.”

            Bucky kept his hand up but he vehemently nodded in agreement.

            Steve glared at the two and then stomped out of the room. Bucky didn’t try to go after him, since he needed to blow off some steam. 

            Bucky carefully returned the painting to the portfolio and then furrowed his brows at Mrs. Bergman. “Why’d he do that?”

            She looked sad, kind of angry. “It happens every time. Steve never told me the whole thing, but, I guess his father didn’t have many kind words about his drawings when he was younger. And elementary school kids weren’t any better. You know, that does something to a person’s self-esteem.”

            Bucky listened raptly. He wanted to wrap Steve up in a blanket and tell him how amazing he was, but he knew that would only enrage the little firecracker.

            They stood in silence for a little, and then Bucky gave Mrs. Bergman a small smile. “Thanks.”

            She just smiled and turned towards her desk.

***

            Sam felt his throat itch because his fancy shirt collar irritated his skin. He whispered towards Steve, who was standing next to him, “Man, I think this shirt is racist.” He itched to prove his point, jokingly, but Steve didn’t crack a smile. He looked nauseous.

            “Listen, not a ton of people will be here anyways. And free food! Cookies! Steve, you love cookies! And your art is fuckin’ amazing.”

            Steve looked down at his shoes. “In one ear, out the other,” Sam muttered. Steve was kind of sad that his mom couldn’t make it since she was working, but Steve had promised to bring his art home to show her.

            Mrs. Bergman tapped the microphone at the front of the large room that wasn’t being used on campus. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! This is the twenty-second annual Shield High School Art Show, with pieces created by our very own talented students. Help yourself to snacks and beverages, and enjoy. I implore you to leave nice comments about pieces, there will be a binder floating around. Thank you.”

            People began milling about. There were about thirty or forty people here, max, and most were close friends and family. Steve shouldn’t be sweating so much. He went to the table at the side and chugged down some water. He started to walk around and stared at some pieces that interested him, trying to focus on anything besides the people who inevitably regarded or walked past his own piece(s) (Mrs. Bergman had a lot of free space, so she asked Steve if she could use some of his old artwork; despite wanting to vomit, he agreed).

            The function only lasted about 45 minutes, and by the end Steve had cooled down a bit. Sam’s twelve-year-old twin sisters were chatting to him about Star Wars and he laughed at one of Claire’s comments.

            Mrs. Bergman came up again, and said, “I hope you all enjoyed the talented work we had on display. I leave you with this parting thought: know that art has purpose. It tells people about the world and themselves. Its impact is long-lasting, and it has the power to change the world. Drive safely.”

            Steve snorted at her kooky comment. He paid her to say it. She grinned as she walked away from the microphone. “See, Steve! No one laughed. Everything went well. You did well.”

            She hugged him because she was a huggy person, and Steve went willingly. “Thanks, Berg.”

            “Now go that party that the faculty know _nothing_ about,” She said with a grin.

            “You sure you don’t want help packing up?”

            “That’s what the freshmen are for, Steve.”

            “Ah, yes, the pack mules.”

            Sam shoved his shoulder. “Stop stallin’.” He dragged Steve by his sleeve and waved to Mrs. Bergman.

            Steve groaned.

***

            Bucky was on an adrenaline rush. After throwing the perfect pass, Hughes caught it and ran straight to the end zone and launched Shield High into the lead. The game ended soon after and now the Strikers were going to States.

            The locker-room was full of cheers and laughter, and gossip about the party. “Dude, who you plan on hookin’ up with?” A sophomore still on JV asked Bucky.

            Bucky’s friend, T’Challa, laughed in the sophomore’s face. “Dude, Barnes doesn’t do that shit. He’s sportsexual.”

            The sophomore snorted. Then promptly disappeared when he saw Brock wielding his towel whip, laughing maniacally. Bucky just turned towards his locker and started putting on deodorant. He packed some nice clothes in his bag for the party and even brought his dad’s cologne. Buck noticed that he was excited tonight more than he usually was but didn’t know why (yes he did; answer starts with a STEVE ROGERS).

            When he arrived, Tony jeered from the top window, the speakers already blasting some heavy bass that seemed to shake the house. “HEY BUCKSTERS!!! C’MON IN, THE WATERS FINE!” Bucky heard giggles from the room out of which Tony was leering; seems someone found his harem.

            Bucky waved genially. “Sup, Tony. Don’t fall out the window.”

            “DON’T TRY THAT REVERSE PSYCHOLOGY SHIT WITH ME BARNES, I KNOW YOU!!”

            Bucky just raised an eyebrow and headed inside. His eyes began searching before his brain caught up. Bodies were gyrating in the living room, red solo cups were littered everywhere, and glass shattered in a faraway room.

            Brock clapped his shoulder too roughly. “What a fuckin’ rager! I need a fuckin’ drink, Barnes!” He seemed in high spirits, and Bucky didn’t feel like starting shit so he just shook his head. Brock wolfishly smiled. “More for me, then!”

            Bucky walked around, grabbing a handful of chips. He caught sight of Natasha’s red hair and loped over to her. “Hey, Nat!”

            She grinned up at him. “Nice to see you here, Barnes.” She was standing with a red solo cup in her hand, looking out the window. “I’m waiting for Pegs to arrive. I don’t know why the fuck I came so early.”

            “Looks like you’ve been havin’ a blast so far!” Bucky joked with a smile in his voice. Nat rolled her eyes. “Hey,” Bucky continued, trying to lower his voice even though he had to keep it raised to talk over the music. “Have you seen Steve?”

            She gave him a knowing look, but just said, “Kitchen with Sam.”

            Bucky thanked her and walked toward the room. When he saw Steve laughing at something Sam said, his stomach swooped (He yelled at himself internally).

            Steve looked up as if knowing immediately that Bucky was looking at him, thinking about him. He smiled ruefully. They hadn’t talked since that thing in the art room. Bucky walked over to the two slowly. Sam clapped him on the back, saying, “What’s up, Man? How was the game?”

            Bucky grinned bashfully. “We’re goin’ to States, so that’s exciting.”

            Steve looked fed-up already. “Let me guess, you got the winning points or however football works.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “Your smile gave it away.” Sam grinned at Steve.

            “Steve, Steve, what am I saying?” Sam grinned even wider, his adorable gap showing.

            Steve shoved his shoulder. “You’re saying, ‘Look at me, I’m a nerd.’”

            Bucky chuckled. Steve turned towards him and smiled a little bit, before his expression turned somber. He faced Sam, saying, “I’ll meet up with you in a few. Talk to Maria and “romance her” like you’ve been claiming you’d do for the past week.”

            Sam looked between the two of them and nodded. “I’ll catch up with y’all. Don’t be idiots.”

            Steve grinned half-heartedly, then walked towards the back of the house, out the door to the back deck. He didn’t look back to see if Bucky was following, he just knew.

            Steve didn’t turn around when Bucky slid the glass door closed. Instead, he leaned his arms on the bannister and looked out at the pool, lit up at the bottom and looking lonely. Bucky leaned forward beside the smaller boy.

            “I’m—I’m sorry.”

            Bucky didn’t look at him. He knew Steve was vulnerable right now, and he didn’t like to be vulnerable.

            “Don’t worry, Stevie. I get it.”

            “But you don’t,” Steve said, sounding frustrated. However, it was more aimed at himself than Bucky. “Look. You can’t say shit to your football friends because they’ll eat me alive.” He looked up at Bucky this time, his eyes cold and calculating (he learned from Nat).

            “I promise,” said Bucky earnestly.

            “I’m not goin’ into it because I don’t want your fuckin’ pity but I think you deserve some sorta explanation.” He cleared his throat and looked back down. Bucky didn’t tell him what Mrs. Bergman said. “Like, okay. One time I brought a drawing home from school, and my stepdad ripped it up and yelled at me and—well, he was basically the Brock Rumlow of my childhood. And in—in elementary school, there were some nasty kids. They locked me in the back room and I could hear them rippin’ up my stuff on the other side but I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.” It was silent for a beat.

            “Is your stepdad still around?”

            Steve chuckled darkly. “Fuck, no. He hit my ma one time and I called the cops. We had to move, but it was worth it. Haven’t seen ‘im for almost seven years.”

            “Good.”

            Steve looked up at him, steeling himself for Bucky to start laughing, but it never came. “Thanks for tellin’ me, Stevie.”

            He just smiled a little. Then the sliding glass door opened and Peggy called out, “Steven Grant Rogers! Get your arse in here and start having fun!”

            Steve groaned and turned towards her, the moment fizzling. “Hey, Pegs.”

            She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Ey! What’d I say about kiss marks?!”

            With a light tap on his cheek, Peggy turned on her heel towards the dance floor. Bucky was right behind him, a hand on his lower back to usher him inside. Steve’s back burned at the contact, but he never let it show.

            More than the promised forty-five minutes later, Steve found himself in the middle of the living room-turned-dance floor, jumping around with his friends and laughing. However, he started coughing, his asthma and broken rib screaming at him to cut the shit. He went outside quickly and stole a few hits from his inhaler, leaning gratefully on the side of the house.

            The door opened not a minute later and someone leaned right next to him, leaving almost a foot of space between them. Steve said, “Barnes, go back insi—“ and then he looked up.

            Brock was standing there just staring down at Steve, his expression blank. “Steve.”

            “That’s my name,” Steve spat out before he could bite his tongue. His black eye only just started turning yellowish green.

            He leaned downward a bit towards Steve. He smelled like he just poured gallons of vodka on himself. “I wanted t’say…M’sorry. ‘Bout yer face.” His words were slurred, slow.

            Steve backed up a step. “You can’t expect me to forgive you.”

            Brock took a step forward. “’S jus that, yer so small, ‘n…’n cute. ‘N I’m not gay, but.” And Brock tried to surge towards Steve’s lips, but Steve just ran back in the house.

            Steve tugged on Sam’s shirt. “We need t’go.” Sam was smacking face with Maria and Steve felt so shitty about bothering him, but he knew Brock would realize what he said sooner than later and then overcompensate by probably murdering Steve.

            Sam shoved him away and pulled back a little to say, “Find a different ride. I’m not sober, don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

            Steve rolled his eyes as the two started making out again. “Fine. See ya.” It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t get a response. He started weaving through the crowd and found Bucky, Clint, and Peggy ranting passionately about something. Steve stopped in front of them, half-panting. “Could any of you give me a ride? Like, now?”

            They all turned to look down at Steve (he hated his height at this moment more than ever) and saw his pinched face. “Bro,” Clint started, “what happened—“

            “I can drive you,” Bucky blurted.

            Steve nodded appreciatively. “We need to go, like, now.”

            Peggy grabbed his shoulder. “Steve. What happened?”

            Before he could respond, he was pushed into Bucky’s chest from behind. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rumlow yelled. Steve was glad for once about the blasting music, since Brock’s screaming didn’t attract too many onlookers.

            Bucky stepped in front of Steve. “I think you need to cool off. Take a walk, Brock.”

            Brock just snarled and tried pushing Bucky out of the way. “I need’ta talk t’Steve. No one says no t’me. This shrimpy dick asshole don’t get no right t—“

            Bucky punched him square across the jaw and Brock dropped like a sack of flour. Buck hissed through his teeth and shook his hand off before grabbing Steve’s hand. “We should get outta here before this escalates.”

            Steve nodded, his throat feeling tight again.

            Once they were safely in Bucky’s Jeep and at least a mile away, Steve let a long breath out. The car was quiet, and Bucky looked over at Steve with worry. “You okay?”

            Steve shrugged. He didn’t trust himself to speak, unless it was to utter directions.

            The car pulled up to the curb. Bucky turned the engine off and rubbed his knuckles, wincing in pain.

            Steve unbuckled and looked over at Bucky for the first time. “Come upstairs. I’ll bandage your hand.”

            “You don’t have t—“

            Steve just gave him a pleading look. Bucky nodded wordlessly.

            They took the elevator and Steve tapped his foot. He seemed uncomfortable. “Sam’s the only one who’s come over before,” he said as a way of explanation. Bucky hummed noncommittally but inside his stomach flopped again.

            Steve fumbled with his keys and pressed his shoulder into the door so that it would pop open. “You should get that fixed,” Bucky murmured.

            Steve raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you try to pay for a handyman in Brooklyn.”

            Bucky looked around the apartment and realized Steve really _couldn’t_ afford much. Despite the sparseness of the area, however, it had a cozy feeling that Bucky didn’t associate with Steve often.

            Sliding one chair out, Steve gestured for Bucky to sit while he got the supplies out of the first aid kit and the ice pack out of the freezer. Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You have a lot of ice packs.”

            Steve flushed. “I’ve been in a lotta fights. My ma actually needed to use all of those at one time, once.” He said it as if bragging but there was an undercurrent of bitterness.

            Instead of pressing, Bucky just offered his hand, which looked more than a little red. Steve spread Neosporin on it and wrapped it in gauze, before pressing the ice pack on it. “Your knuckles aren’t that bad, but this’ll help the immediate pain fizzle off.”

            “You should become a doctor.”

            “Now that would be the epitome of irony, wouldn’t it?” Steve grinned, and Bucky mirrored it.

            “Since I’m in your humble abode, don’t I deserve a house tour?” Bucky inquired, sounding aloof.

            Steve snorted. “Entitled ass.” He got up anyways and walked to what Bucky figured was his room. He opened the door and Bucky leaned over his head to take a look in.

            There were notebooks everywhere, charcoal and other art mediums strewn across the desk. The bed was perfunctorily made, looking rumpled as if Steve made it in his sleep. The floor was wood, swept clean except for the pile of crumpled up papers that missed the trash can in the corner. On the wall there were glow-in-the-dark stars and some portraits and photos of Steve and his friends. Steve never did self-portraits and was only at the edges of the pictures.  

            Steve blushed at Bucky’s scrutiny, reluctantly walking further into the room so Buck could sleuth more. He sat on his bed and waited with his hands folded in his lap. Bucky soon sat down next to him, not taking his eyes off of the drawings. “Wow, Stevie.”

            He pushed his shoulder. “Shut your trap, Barnes, or you’ll catch flies.”

            Bucky looked down at him thoughtfully, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve met.”

            Now it was Steve’s turn to gape. Before either could say anymore, the door to the apartment slammed open (Bucky was thinking he should fix it) and his mom called out, “Steve, you home?”

            “Yeah, Ma. I’m in my room.”

            “Hi, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky called out, and Steve glared at him.

            Steve’s mom rushed to his room. “You’re Bucky! It’s so nice to meet you!” Bucky got up to shake her hand but she hugged him. Classic mom move. Steve glared at his mom as she winked over Bucky’s shoulder.

            “You’re home earlier than I thought. Was the party okay?”

            Steve was about to say that, no, it sucked, but he stopped himself. It was actually kind of fun if he didn’t think about what Brock Rumlow would do to him next time he saw Steve.

            Bucky filled in for her, stepping back to put his hands on his hips and grin down at Steve. “Your son is a party animal. We were dancing for over an hour and he just kept bouncin’ around like there was no tomorrow.”

            Steve stood up and pushed them out of his room, saying, “I think you’re talkin’ about yourself, Bucky.”

            Bucky’s heartrate picked up, but he didn’t let it show that he was elated by the fact that Steve simply called him by his nickname. Instead, he shrugged nonchalantly. “Mrs. Rogers, don’t believe anything he says.”

            She just smiled up at Bucky (she was short too, and Bucky kind of loved her). “Do you boys want something to eat?”

            Bucky scratched his head. “Uh,” he looked to Steve. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. Steve just shrugged. “I could eat. Do we have pasta?”

            Sarah got going and Bucky and Steve passed the time at the table chatting with her about work. Bucky was really curious about nursing so he asked most of the questions. Steve couldn’t help watching Bucky talk. He was so—

            “Steve?” Bucky was looking at him, talking to him, and there was a glint in his eyes, accompanied by a smirk. Steve instantly schooled his expression and cleared his throat, sitting up.

            “What? Sorry, long day.”

            “How was the art show?” Sarah prompted.

            Steve shrugged, and got up to help her with the sauce. He spoke to the both of them when he said, “I don’t really know. Sam was there so I didn’t completely freak out. They had cookies there, so.”

            Sarah nodded thoughtfully.

            They didn’t say much else as they worked around the kitchen and Bucky felt awkward because he kept asking to help but they both said, “No,” irrefutably.

            The two teenage boys scarfed down the pasta and Steve’s ma watched on happily, picking at her food since someone brought in food for the ward earlier that night. When they finished, Bucky tried to help Steve wash the dishes but Sarah distracted him by asking about football.

            “I see you two double teaming me,” Bucky said, raising his eyebrows at Mrs. Rogers.

            She just laughed, and it sounded like Steve’s, but it came out easier. “I asked you a question, mister.”

            “Sorry, ma’am. I’ve been hangin’ out with Stevie here so much I’m gettin’ used to deflecting questions.” He made a look at Steve, who briefly glared over his shoulder.

            He went on about football and baseball—“Steve loves baseball!”—and how Bucky’s hoping for a scholarship. “He’ll get a full ride wherever he applies, Ma. He’s that good.”

            Mrs. Rogers just raised an eyebrow at him and Steve had the gall to blush. He turned back around to the dishes but Bucky could see his neck all red too. It was adorable.

            Bucky shared a smile with Mrs. Rogers, and then stood up and stretched. “I should get goin’,” he said regrettably.

            Steve tried not to look a little disappointed. “I’ll walk you out.”

            When they were at Bucky’s car, Steve leaned his shoulder against it. “Thanks for tonight,” he muttered.

            Bucky grasped his shoulder. “Hey, I got your back, Stevie. Okay?”

            Steve looked up at him, almost disbelieving. “Um. Okay.”

            Without thinking, Bucky leaned down and kissed his cheek before walking around his car and hopping in. “See ya Monday, punk.”

            “Jerk,” Steve automatically replied, but he was still caught off guard.

            As Bucky pulled away, he almost hit his head against the steering wheel.

            What the _fuck_ did he just do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you dug this as much as I loved writing it, hmu with kudos and comments!! If not, no pressure, I love you!! <33


	4. A Breeze to a Petal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes over to fix the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You. You all will like this (i think). I like it. I LOVE it. GOsshHHHH fogjs pgj sfjg  
> None of these characters belong to me.

Saturday afternoon, Bucky Barnes showed up at Steve Rogers’s apartment door completely decked in handyman attire. It reminded Steve of a stripper-gram. He hated himself for that thought.

            “What’re you doin, Barnes?”

            Bucky was leaning on the door with a smirk, as if he could read into Steve’s convoluted mind. “I’m here to fix your door.”

            Steve looked completely _done_ with the situation. He rolled his eyes and started to shut the door, but Bucky fit himself through the door anyways. “What? It annoyed me, and I am coincidentally the best handyman in Brooklyn.”

            “Really,” Steve deadpanned.

            “And I won’t even charge.” He paused. “This time.” There may or may not have been a wink that Bucky immediately regretted.

            Turning around in exasperation, Steve threw his hands up in a ‘why the fuck not’ gesture. “Fine. Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

            Bucky grinned and put his beat-up toolbox (which he stole from his mom) on the ground next to the door. Steve watched from the kitchen table, sipping his tea and ignoring his drawing book. “There’s something up with the shower too. Or are doors your specialty?” Steve joked.

            Bucky was unscrewing something and fiddling with another thing, bent over so Steve got a _very nice_ view. He averted his eyes. Sipped his tea. “I could do that. Anything else on the to-do list, Boss?” Bucky replied, standing up straight and grinning, wiping his hands on his jeans. Jeans that hugged his thighs very—

            Okay, Steve may have let himself think more about Bucky since the asshole went ahead and kissed him on the cheek. Why is it such a big deal? Peggy and Nat do it all the time. Hell, Clint even pecks him on his forehead whenever he gets particularly crazy.

            Steve, above all, was angry at himself. He’d only known Bucky a week. Why does it feel so easy with him? Why does Steve always sketch aimlessly only to find out he was outlining Bucky’s jaw, or shading his delicious lips?

            “Steve?” Bucky cut in, taking a seat next to him and leaning forward a bit.

            “Sorry. Zoned out.” _Thinking about you,_ Steve thought dejectedly. He had it bad. How and why didn’t matter anymore, Steve had to focus all of his energy getting back to normal. He couldn’t set himself up for failure. It was his most important rule.

            Who would ever want him anyways?

***

            Steve sat on the bathroom counter with his notebook while Bucky unscrewed the shower head and examined the contents. He hummed as he was working and Steve wanted more moments like this. Comforting, innocent. Perfect.

            “Are you gonna be weird about the kiss?” Bucky said nonchalantly. Steve didn’t notice Bucky's cheeks reddening or his hands minutely shaking. No, he was busy being angry because the good moment was lost. Bucky and his stupid mouth.

            “It was a peck on the cheek. Pegs does it all the time.”

            Bucky ‘hmm’d. “Okay.”

            Steve, being the self-destructive asthmatic punk mess he is, added, “Why? Are _you_ gonna be weird about the kiss?”

            Bucky didn’t look over, just scratched the back of his hair. “Probably.”

            Steve wanted to ask questions. A trillion questions. What does that even fucking mean? Why’d you do it in the first place? What are you thinking? Feeling? Are you gonna do something about it?

            Instead, he said, “Don’t worry. It didn’t mean anything.”

            Both of them felt a twang of hurt in their chest. They didn’t say anything else.

***

            Steve’s mom came home to Steve and Bucky sitting at the counter, Steve drawing while Bucky sipped water and looked over his shoulder, making a joke here or there that made Steve snort.

            She shut the door, but it didn’t make that noise it usually made. In fact, she realized for the first time that when she pressed her shoulder to the door, it took hardly any effort to open it. “Bucky, did you fix the door?”

            He looked up and smiled at Mrs. Rogers. “Uh, yeah. My mom’s kind of a fixer-upper so I know my way around hands-on stuff like that.”

            “You are too sweet.” She tapped his hand lightly before turning to the fridge and squinting at the sparse choices they had.

            “Grilled cheese okay, boys?”

            The two immediately said, “Yes!” and then promptly added, “Please.”

            Steve liked his grilled cheese a certain way so he shooed his mother away. “I promise, Buck, this’ll be the best grilled cheese you’ll ever have.”

            “He’s right, you know. I don’t know who taught him, but it’s delicious.”

            Bucky grinned. “I bet. Steve has some pretty amazing talents, he should save some for the rest of us.”

            “Shut up.”

            Mrs. Rogers smiled warmly. Then, both of them at the table glanced at Steve’s notebook between them. Mrs. Rogers winked at Bucky as if to say, “I got your back,” and then flipped backwards through the pages. Bucky loved looking at Steve’s art, but Steve didn’t show him his sketches unless he was drawing right in front of Bucky.

            Then, Bucky saw a portrait of himself. It was only a sketch, but Bucky could recognize the cleft in his chin and his short, dark hair. Mrs. Rogers raised an eyebrow, but closed it right as Steve turned around. Steve didn’t notice, instead offering Bucky a perfectly cut grilled cheese. He leaned against the counter and looked at Bucky expectantly.

            Bucky grinned because he could tell Steve was getting impatient, so he slowly brought the sandwich to his lips (Steve’s eyes were glued to those lips) and took a slow bite.

            And flavor exploded in his mouth. Bucky actually let out a little moan. Mrs. Rogers laughed and Steve blushed. “You like it?”

            “Obviously!” Bucky quickly wolfed down more. It was cheesy, and the bread was a warm golden color (kind of like Steve’s hair) and there was a light hint of vinegar that gave it a pop. Bucky was in love.

            Steve grabbed his notebook and put it in his room before cooking his mom her grilled cheese and then, finally, sitting down to eat his own. Bucky was mostly done, licking his fingers and trying to savor the last of the taste. He may or may not have taken a bite from Steve’s, and may or may not have been met with an affectionate glare.

            His heart skipped a few beats but he just grinned deviously like it didn’t matter.

***

            After dinner, Mrs. Rogers went to her room to get changed into more comfortable clothes and Steve brought Bucky to their small balcony. On the sill there was a small pot of flowers. Steve told Bucky their names and Bucky was enamored.

            “So you water them every day?”

            Steve shrugged. “More like, every two or three. Ma sort of switches off with me.”

            “They’re real nice.”    

            Steve just shrugged (again), self-deprecatingly. He fell into one of the lawn seats, and Buck took the spot next to him. They watched the sun set and Steve made a smartass comment and Bucky laughed so hard he hunched over and Steve couldn’t stop looking at him.

            He shot forward and gave Bucky a quick peck on the cheek, immediately returning to his seat in the lawn chair with a red face. He was cursing at himself, not because he regretted doing it, but because he _didn’t_.

            Right as Bucky felt rose-petal-soft lips on his cheek, he froze, his laughs stuck in his throat. Too soon that warm comfort was gone, and Bucky slowly leaned back in his seat, trying to act cool while freaking out in his head, ‘ _what is going on!!! What just happened!!!’_

When he mustered up the courage to glance at Steve, the asthmatic punk was reclined in his chair, looking out at the grey buildings. His body language was too relaxed and Bucky could tell Steve was strung like a bow.

            Without looking over, Steve muttered, “Thought I’d return the favor.”

            Steve could tell Bucky had a small smile on his face. If he looked over, he didn’t know what he would do and he didn’t trust himself. All of those rules he made for himself are out the window and all because of this jerk who just appeared out of nowhere. Nowhere!!

            Still grinning, Bucky leaned a little towards Steve. Steve rolled his eyes, repeating what Bucky had said earlier, “Are you gonna be weird about the kiss?”

            “What? Who? Me? Psh. Pegs does it all the time!” The heady sarcasm brought a reluctant tilt to Steve’s lips. Then, Bucky got even closer. Only inches from his ear. He lowered his voice, and Steve fought to repress a shiver. “Why? Are _you_ gonna be weird about the kiss?”

            Steve finally turned his head. He could feel Bucky’s breath on his lips. Bucky’s eyes bore into his. Bucky’s smell clouded everything else out. The wind lightly nipped at his skin, but he didn’t feel anything.

            All that his nerves told him was ‘ _Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…_ ’

            Bucky himself watched as Steve’s long eyelashes slowly shut, brushing his cheeks just as the taller boy wanted to do, wanted to lightly caress his fingers on that soft skin, feel that velvet under his fingertips.

            Steve smelled like fresh flowers and something that could only be described as inherently _Steve, Steve, Steve…_

The other boy leaned forward, and their lips lightly brushed. A breeze to a petal.

            Before Bucky could comb his fingers through that soft blond hair, before Steve could wrap his hands around those strong biceps, before their kiss could deepen, before, before, before.

            There was a knock at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Ideas on who's on the other side of that knock? Tune in next time... ;)))


	5. Pierce My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knocks? Why does Steve have so much anger???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPRESA PUTAS!!!!!! I'm backkkk. Next chapter will be some serious crazy shit!! Enjoy :-)

Steve and Bucky quickly shoved themselves back into their seats, as if being caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Steve was blushing as he rushed up and yelled out to his mom, “I got it!”

            Bucky didn’t comment on the breathy tone of Steve’s voice.

            Steve opened the door and—

            What the—

            “GET THE FUCK OUT OR ILL CALL THE FUCKING COPS!” Steve tried to slam the door. Bucky got up and rushed into the room, Steve’s mother right next to him.

            A polished shoe and a veiny hand prevented the door from shutting. Steve hated his lack of strength immensely in this moment.

            “Steven, what is—oh my gosh.”

            Alexander Pierce stepped into the apartment with a wolfish smile. “It’s nice to see you again Sarah.” As an afterthought, he turned that smile towards Steve, briefly. “Steven.”

            “What are you doing here, Alex?” Sarah seemed smaller in this moment. Bucky didn’t know what to do. He put his arm around her. She leaned in gratefully, but at the cost of Pierce’s gaze now zeroing in on Bucky himself.

            Steve noticed and stepped in front of the older man, distracting him from the brunet. “Say your peace and leave or I’m gonna make you leave.”

            Pierce smiled, and Steve could tell he was thinking, “I’d like to see you try.”

            He raised his hands in mock surrender nonetheless and took a step back. “I just wanted to stop by to say hello. How are things?”

            Sarah huffed out a breath of disbelief. “How did you find us?”

            For once, Pierce’s façade cracked. He looked hesitant. “I’ve made some valuable connections since I last saw you. After a year off of probation I thought it, let’s say, therapeutic, to mend our relationship. Things ended badly.”

            No one responded.

            “I came to apologize, Sarah. I’m sorry I hit you. It was wrong and I was in a bad place. You have to know that I loved you, and I would never intentionally hurt you.”

            “Oh yeah?” Sarah snapped back. Bucky could feel her righteous anger rolling off her, just like Steve. “And what about my son? He told me about what you did, after you left. And it was hard to wheedle it outta him too, took _months_ for him to feel even a little okay—“

            “Mom,” Steve blushed and ducked his head.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sarah.” Pierce shot back without hesitation. “I treated him like my son. Sometimes he was out of line, and I disciplined how I saw fit.”

            Steve growled. “Get out. Now.”

            He stepped up to Pierce, glaring up. As if he wasn’t five foot four. Bucky squeezed Sarah’s shoulders and let go of her to stand behind Steve. Glaring at Pierce. Telling him to fuck off with his glare.

            “And who is this?” Pierce raised an eyebrow at Bucky. Steve turned away and almost jumped to see Buck so close.

            He turned back to the older man and said with gravel in his voice, “No one. Get the hell out, Pierce.”

            Alex grinned again and waved goodbye to Sarah. “It was nice to see you again. I hope to see you soon.”

            “I hope not,” She shot back with venom in her voice.

            Like a snake, he slithered away. When the door slammed, everyone in the apartment jumped.

            When the sound of crisp footsteps disappeared, everyone slowly let out a breath they had been holding. Steve slouched his shoulders and walked to Sarah, wrapping her in a protective hug. Bucky got all of his mom’s tools and made to quietly walk out the door, but Steve’s head shot up, and he kissed his mom on the cheek and whispered something to her before rushing to join Bucky.

            Bucky tried to hide his smile.

            They walked down to his jeep in silence, both jumping when a door a few floors up slammed, and then again when a car honked, and again when a dog barked. They chuckled at their skittishness, even though their hearts were heavy.

            As they arrived at the car, Steve leaned against it and sighed, closing his eyes. Bucky could tell he wanted to cry, but he’d never let himself. So Bucky just stood next to him and bumped his shoulder.

            Taking a deep breath and strengthening his resolve, Steve turned towards Bucky. “Listen. Alexander Pierce is scum. If you see him, walk the other way. Don’t start shit. He’s manipulative. You could get in real trouble with him.”

            Bucky nodded solemnly. “He seems like bad news, Stevie.” The shorter boy nodded. Nonetheless, Bucky continued, “I can’t promise I won’t fucking deck him in his stupid teeth if he does somethin’ to you or your mom, though.”

            Steve smiled a little. “I’ll beat you to it, jerk.”

            Bucky rested his forehead against Steve’s. “I’m here for you, punk.”

            Steve just gulped, closed his eyes, and nodded minutely. He was shaking. Bucky wrapped him in his arms and tugged him close to his chest. Steve’s arms slowly came around him.

            “You need anythin’, call me. I don’t care if it’s the asscrack of dawn, as long as it’s not just you callin’ for shits an’ giggles. I’ll be there.”

            Steve clenched his fists in Bucky’s jacket. Then he took a step back. “I’ll see ya Monday, Buck.”

            Bucky grinned, leaning down and kissing him on the cheek before walking around his car to get into the driver’s seat. “See ya, Stevie.”

            Steve rushed up to his apartment, his heart just a little lighter.

***

            Monday felt different to Steve. The atmosphere was…off. His ribs were smarting that morning so he took four ibuprofen, so maybe it was just the lingering pain. His eye was mostly healed now. He couldn’t help but worry about seeing Rumlow, the memories from Friday—that Friday that seemed like a month, a year, a lifetime ago—coming into stark focus.          

            And yeah, when the brainless lug turned the corner, his beady eyes zeroed in on Steve. He stalked towards him and pushed him against the locker. Steve’s rib screamed, but the boy himself kept quiet, a determined glare sinking into Rumlow’s.

            “I don’t remember much from Friday. It’s best you don’t either, asshole.” Rumlow punched the locker next to his face and walked away. Steve couldn’t help but flinch, and what’s worse, he was relieved. He didn’t get pummeled to death. Rumlow spared him. He breathed a sigh of relief.

            Nat and Peggy walked towards him. “Explain.”

            Steve walked with one of them on either side of him to homeroom and explained everything about Friday night. He neglected to mention, however, the three kisses between him and Bucky. Steve wanted to cradle those close to his heart for as long as possible.

            “Also, ah…you know what, nevermind.”

            Sam slid into the chair next to him. “No. No nevermind. Tell us right fucking now, Rogers.”

            He sighed and looked at his friends. Nat, Pegs, Sam, and Clint sitting awkwardly on top of his desk. “Pierce came to the house Saturday.”

            Immediately, all of them tensed up. “What the fuck—“

            “I’M GONNA—“

            “Need I remind you that my uncles are in a Russian gang—“

            “Guys!” Steve interjected before Clint could fall off his desk from getting so worked up. “It’s fine. I told him to fuck off.”

            “C’mon, Stevie,” Sam leaned forward and grabbed his shoulder comfortingly. “You know he doesn’t scare easy.”

            Steve hung his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

            Nat rested her head on his shoulder. “We got your back, Steve.”

            “Thanks, guys. I know.”

            It was quiet for a bit. “So, what do we do?” Clint asked.

            Sam stood up straight. He loved strategizing. He wanted to go in the army or the air force out of college. “We build more locks on the door. Inform the cops. Get a restraining order.”

            “Sam,” Steve lamented, “You know my ma and I don’t have that typa money. We almost went homeless the last time we had to go to court with him.”

            “We’ll help you out,” Peggy said resolutely. The rest of them nodded.

            The bell rang and Steve shook his head, walking out of the room without looking back at the friends he did nothing to deserve. He couldn’t let them do that.

***

            During lunch, Steve debated eating in the bathroom because he didn’t want to strategize anymore. He doesn’t want to speak about Alexander Pierce.

            Bucky looped his arm around Steve’s shoulders anyways and guided him (shoved him) to the cafeteria anyways. Steve sat down dejectedly, and Bucky bumped his shoulder as he sat next to him. The rest of his friends soon gathered. Nat raised an eyebrow at Steve and head-gestured to Bucky. “Does he know?” She said without speaking.

            Steve nodded.

            “Barnes,” She started. “Do you have any brilliant ideas on how to kill Pierce?”

            Steve choked on his carrot. Bucky just looked up and said, “Believe me, I’ve thought of about a million ways in the past two days.”

            Sam looked up. He was always the observant one. “Two days?”

            Bucky nodded. “When I first saw him, I thought strangling would be fine, but he needs more of a severe punishment.”

            The rest of the crew furrowed their brows. “You saw him?” Clint asked. The rest of the group had never set eyes on the scum that was Alexander Pierce, but they all hated him with a passion. He was a horror story, and Bucky had just admitted spotting him.

            Bucky started to look kind of nervous. Steve, meanwhile, was floundering. “Uh, yeah. I went to Steve’s house to fix his door.”

            Nat sat up and glared. “Sure.”

            “Hey,” Steve said authoritatively. “Knock it off.”

            “It’s just funny that you’ve known him a week and he gets to go to your house, and Pegs and I have known you six years. Still no invite.” Nat filed her nails. Pegs raised an eyebrow.

            Steve seemed to blow steam out of his nose. “Fine! You all want to come over to my piece of shit apartment that can barely fit me and my mom, FINE! I’ll see you all tonight.” Steve got up and threw away most of his food.

            Everyone looked at each other, looking a little guilty. Then, they turned to Bucky. Steve got mad and they were pretty much used to it. Pegs cleared the silence by asking, “What happened? Steve told us he stopped by, but you know him. Tight-lipped.”

            Bucky shrugged. “Steve and I were just sitting when we heard a knock at the door. He got up, and started screaming. His ma and I got to the front door and this ugly old guy that reeked of evil was there, smiling like the devil.” The group shuddered. “He said he was off probation for a year and wanted to “set things straight,” as he put it. Sarah yelled at him for…” This took a bit for Bucky to spit out without vomiting, “hurting Steve.” The group stiffened. “Steve _did_ tell him to Fuck Off then and his mom had the same righteous fury. I stood there dumbstruck and useless.”

            “What did he say to you? Pierce?”

            Bucky looked a little nervous. “He saw me when I stood behind Steve and was all, “Oh, and who is this?” All pompous, you know? He’s one of those assholes who sounds like everything is kind of funny to him.

            “Steve just stood a little taller and told him I was ‘no one.’ When Pierce left, Steve told me to stay the fuck away from him. The guy is seriously scary.”

            Sam nodded. “I want to save Steve from all this shit, but he won’t let us help.”

            Then, Nat leaned forward, her arms folded on the table and a devious grin on her face. “Well, he _did_ invite us to his house tonight. Let’s booby-trap the place!”

            Clint nodded in agreement, but Peggy and Sam were the voices of reason. “No,” Peggy placed a comforting hand on top of Nat’s. “Honey, we should go there and make sure the doors and windows are good, and be there for Steve. That’s all.”

            Nat and Clint deflated, but nodded in agreement.

            Sam grinned, “Okay, I’ll send you guys his address. Bring food and be nice.”

            The group dispersed a little lighter than things were left this morning in homeroom.

***

            Bucky kept trying to catch Steve’s eye in English, but the small asthmatic blond resolutely faced forward.

            After class, Bucky loped next to him. “Stevie. I’m sorry about lunch.”

            Steve stopped and turned to him. “I’m not mad.”

            Bucky laughed in disbelief. “Uh, yeah you are. Your shoulders are all tense and you have that crease in between your eyebrows.”

            “I _mean_ ,” Steve clarified, “I’m not mad at you guys. I’m mad at myself.”

            Bucky nodded, a little confused. “Why are you so hard on yourself?” He couldn’t help but ask.

            “Cuz everyone else is,” he admitted honestly. It broke Bucky’s heart. He wrapped his arm around Steve.

            “Lemme drive you home. You can stay after for art, but lemme drive you home.”

            Steve hung his head. “I don’t need your help with everything, Barnes.”

            “And I know that. You have the world on your shoulders. I’ll buy you ice cream, huh?” Bucky nudged Steve, jostled him with the arm around his shoulder.

            Steve smiled a little, and Bucky called that a victory. “Okay, good. I’ll see you at the art room after school, so I can watch your punk ass doodle.”

            Steve escaped Bucky’s arm and shoved him in the shoulder likely. “Jerk. Get to class.”

            Bucky was about to give him and Steve could tell. The blond grinned impishly but turned around before the older boy could do anything.

            “You’re gonna be the death of me, Rogers!” He called after him.

            Steve flipped him off, lovingly.

***

            Bucky walked in the art room, Steve already intently focused on a canvas. He was drawing a portrait. “That me?” Bucky made sure to sneak behind Steve so the kid would jump. Steve, however, stayed completely still. Buck slid in the seat next to him and glanced over his shoulder, before Steve shoved him away.

            After a minute, Steve said, “Yes.” His cheeks were red.

            Bucky grinned and leaned his head on the blond’s shoulder. “Good.”

***

            “What the fuck is this place?” Steve asked, confused.

            “Ice Cream Machine!” Bucky said, as if that was explanation enough.

            The place was like a fifties diner, with the juke box and the red upholstery and everything. Steve kind of wanted to sketch it, kind of wanted to get away. If he lived in that era, he and Bucky would be kicked out immediately. Probably followed by a beating in an alley.

            Bucky just looped an arm around him and they sat at a booth, waiting for the server. She came, in a plaid apron and an unamused expression, smacking her gum. “What do you fine gentlemen want today?” She said monotonously.

            Bucky barely noticed, sitting up straighter and smiling. “Hi! Can we get a chocolate milkshake with two straws, please?”

            The lady nodded and walked away. Once Bucky turned back to Steve, the latter rolled his eyes. “This is so cheesy.”

            “It’s our first official date. I’m allowed to be cheesy. It’s my prerogative.” Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, but Steve blanched.

            “Date?”

            Bucky grinned at him. “Yeah.”

            Steve looked unimpressed, even though his heart was doing the salsa. “So that’s why you missed practice and offered to drive me home.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            Steve sighed, buried his face in his arms.

            Bucky touched his arm, but Steve didn’t react. “Is something wrong?”

            Steve whined. “I like you. I can’t do that. I can’t—“ He shot up and glared at him. “It’s your fault.”

            Bucky was very confused. “Uh…”

            Steve sighed and played with the straw in his water. “I don’t understand. This isn’t supposed to happen to me.”

            Bucky huffed. What typa first date talk is this?! “Well, I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.” His leg jiggled under the table in agitation. Steve rested his hand on it underneath the table as both a halting gesture and a comforting remark.

            “I don’t mean it like that,” Steve admitted, quieter. Bucky raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. Clearly that answer wouldn’t suffice. Steve huffed. “I just—people don’t usually like me like—“ he gestured between the two of them, “—this.” He cleared his throat. “So, I promised to myself I wouldn’t let myself feel that way towards anyway.” Steve grinned ruefully and shoved Bucky’s knee before bringing both of his hands to the table. “You kinda messed that up for me.”

            Bucky smiled a little bit. Then he frowned, thinking about what Steve said. He took both of Steve’s hands in his own. Steve’s hands were so cold, there was still some charcoal on his fingers. “Hey, you’re a fucking catch, okay? I know you have this self-deprecating complex, but you have people who know who you are and they’re still around. And those people are fucking awesome, and that reflects who you are, you asshole.” He squeezed his hands.

            Steve looked down at their intertwined fingers and grinned. “Fuck off.”

            Bucky just squeezed one more time and let go, making room for the ice cream. Steve, like the little shit he was, scooped up whipped cream on his finger and put it on Bucky’s nose. With an indignant squawk, Bucky responded by putting some on his forehead. The two were a giggling mess by the time the waitress came by and cleared her throat.

            They finished up the shake before paying a hefty tip and giggling their way out.

            “Wait,” Bucky stopped Steve before opening the passenger door. Steve froze up, afraid something was wrong already. Bucky just leaned down and kissed Steve’s forehead. “You missed a spot,” he muttered into Steve’s ear, his breath warm, before opening the door and loping over to the driver’s side. Steve shivered.

            “Asshole,” Steve muttered, a stupid grin glued to his face.

***

            That grin disappeared when Steve opened the door to find his friends sitting around and chatting it up with his ma. Firstly, he just wanted to sit Bucky on the small couch and make out with him until he might as well have been sent into an asthma attack. Secondly, what!! The fuck!! Are they all doing in his apartment!!

            “Steve,” His mother started, “Your friends said you invited them over, so don’t go getting upset.”

            “Ma! I said it as a joke!”

            Nat grinned devilishly. “Well, too late now, buddy.”

            Steve marched to his room and threw his bag to his bed violently. Bucky was still standing at the door, afraid to move in case Steve’s fury turned towards him. Since it was technically Bucky’s fault. Oops.

            Steve stalked back out and sat violently on the ground. “Fine. You’re all here. Let’s do something.” Everyone was kind of…shocked. “Well?”

            Sarah ran to the closet. “We have monopoly! And movies!”

            Sam shot up. “I’ll call my uncle’s pizza place.”

            Clint began to take interest. “Pizza?”

            Sam grinned. “No, Clint.” The blond pouted. Sam specified, “ _Free_ pizza.”


	6. Like a Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going well for Steve, finally! LOL, saith life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaahhhhh soooorrryyy for not updating yall ive been busy moving and summer work!!! that i still have so much to do!!! ahhhhh!! anyways, this chapter is shorter than id have liked it to be, i just found some time to write it and i felt bad for putting you guys to the side for a bit. enjoy!!! :-)

The next three weeks were peaceful and perfect. Steve and Bucky hung around after school in the art room before Bucky would kiss him on the cheek and head to football practice. Steve would wait up and they would drive home together. Steve would invite Bucky up, and sometimes he’d say no because he had to get home for dinner, but other times, like today…

            The weather was getting colder. Steve had to bundle up or he’d catch the plague, and Bucky thought it was the cutest thing how he would only see Steve’s long nose and black framed glasses under the hood and scarf. He’d tug Steve close to his side and watch him warm up in Bucky’s car.

            Fridays were the best because Bucky got out of practice earlier and that usually meant he’d come up to Steve’s apartment, without worrying about his mom walking in because she worked the graveyard shift. They’d barely brush hands until the door closed and then Bucky would press Steve into the couch cushions. Steve was shivering, even after only being outside for about ten seconds. Bucky wrapped his whole body around Steve and kissed him breathless.

            After a while, Steve tapped his shoulder, and Bucky sat up so Steve could take off his layers. His apartment was still pretty cold due to the shitty heating, but Steve came to find out that making out worked him and Bucky into a sweat. Hey, if it works…

            Once Steve was left in his shirt, Bucky shot forward and pressed their mouths together. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured into Steve’s neck. Normally Steve would swat at him, but sometimes, like today, he was too far gone. He could only moan and mutter nearly intelligible praise.

            “Look who’s talking. Like a fucking work of art. I’d sculpt you, if I had any idea how to fucking sculpt.” They both snorted before Steve squeezed Bucky’s ass.

            The brunet took a sharp intake of breath. He buried his face into the space between Steve’s neck and shoulder, biting lightly.

            Steve’s hair was so soft, Bucky remarked as the blond ran his hands up and down his back soothingly. Bucky couldn’t help combing his fingers through the amber waves of grain (in the back of his mind, he hummed the song). He rested on his elbows and looked down at Steve for a second.

            “What?” Steve asked, skin flushed, hair a mess, glasses askew. Lips raw and blushing. Beautiful bird chest heaving…

            “I just…” _I love you,_ Bucky thought.

            Steve grinned. He knew what Bucky was thinking. “Me too.” They smiled at each other before Steve gave Bucky an impatient squeeze. “Now, kiss me stupid, stupid.”

            Bucky easily obliged.

***

            Things turned to shit when a guy in the ER decided to stab Sarah Rogers.

            Steve was in school at the time, and the vice principal actually came to the classroom to escort him out. It was during English, so Bucky furrowed his brows at him and Steve just shrugged before walking out.

            On the way to the main office, the vice principal said nothing. “Is something wrong?” Steve asked, wary. “Look, if Rumlow said—“

            “Please sit down, Mr. Rogers,” Ms. Callaway, the principal, asked as Steve walked in.

            Steve didn’t like being told what to do, but he merely grumbled and sat down. The silence stretched. Steve cleared his throat. “Well? Why’m I here?”

            “I don’t know how to say this delicately, Steven—“

            “Then just say it.”

            She raised an eyebrow. She had heard what a firecracker Steve Rogers was. Then, she clasped her hands together. “Your mother is in the hospital.”

            Steve laughed. “Um, yeah. She kind of, you know, works there?”

            “No, Steven.” Her tone was serious, which got Steve to shut up. “Apparently, there was an unruly patient, believed to be affiliated with a local gang—“

            “What happened to her?!” Steve shot up, wanting to bolt straight to the hospital but needing to hear if his mom was okay.

            “Now, Steven, calm down. She is relatively okay, but the patient had a knife on his person—“

            Steve shot out of the office and ran out of the school. _She’s the only family I got,_ Steve repeated to himself. _I can’t live without her. She’s the only family I got._

_The only family I got…_

***

            Of course, Rhonda, the woman at the front desk and a friend of his mom’s told him to sit down _after_ a good scolding for skipping school.

            “C’mon, Mrs. Kuthrapali, I gotta see her. Where is she? She needs me!”

            “Steve,” She leveled him with her gaze. “Sit down. You know we’ll let you know when you can see her. Okay?”

            Steve glared, but nodded and sat down dejectedly. He wish he had a phone, so he could call Bucky, and Sam and Nat and Peggy and Clint. He had Sam’s number memorized, so he walked back up to the desk, shooting his hands up in mock surrender at Rhonda’s glare.

            “Just wanna make a call. That’s it.”

            Reluctantly, she handed over the phone.

***

            “Hello?”

            “Sam, I’m—“

            “STEVE! Are you okay, dude? Why aren’t you at lunch right now? ‘N how are you callin’ me?”

            “I’m at the hospital.”

            “What the FUCK did Rumlow do—“

            “It’s my mom.”

            “You skipped school to see your mom? Because, same, but—“

            “She was stabbed by a crazy patient.”

            “…Is she okay?”

            “I…*sigh*…I don’t know, Sam. They’re not letting me see her.”

            “Shit.”

            “Listen, I just wanted to call to let you know. Can you tell everyone? Where I am and what’s happened? I don’t wanna repeat it over and over, you know?”

            “Yeah, Steve. I got you.”

            “Okay. Thanks, Sam. Bye.”

***

            Finally, Rhonda called Steve’s name. “Room 317. Don’t rile her up, she’s busted pretty bad.”

            Steve’s stomach rolled, but he nodded and started towards the room.

            When he got in the room, a man was standing there.

            “Pierce,” Steve spat out venomously.

            He turned away from Sarah’s bed, dropping her hand. _Don’t touch her!_ Steve wanted to scream.

            “Hello, Steven. I heard through the grape vine Sarah was sick. I came by to see how she was doing.”

            “How are you here before me? Besides, you’re not family, so get the hell out.”

            Pierce avoided the question. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school? I’m just leaving, so I can drive you back if you’d like.”

            “I’ll pass,” Steve gritted out.

            Pierce sneered before bumping Steve as he left. “You’ll be seeing me around, Steven. You’d best get used to it.”

            “Don’t hold your breath.”

            Once he was down the hallway and out of sight, Steve ran to the chair next to his mother’s bed, clutching her hand, trying to wipe away the slime Pierce left.  

            Thank goodness Ma was sleeping. Rhonda said no stress, and Pierce _only_ brought stress to them, to say the least.

            He rested his head on the side of the bed. The position was awkward and would probably ache for the next week, but he got a good view of his mother’s face. Peaceful, the wrinkles smoothed down. There was a slight slash on her right cheekbone, and Steve could see all the bandaging around her middle. Whoever that asshole was, he did a number on her.

            Steve stared at her, squeezing her hand randomly to feel the heat and remind him that she was there. He fell asleep like that, neck pain and all.

***

            “Steve,” a voice whispered. Then, a feather-light press to his cheek. Steve shot up.

            “Whu…”

            His left eye could barely open, it was pressed into the bed for so long. Once he blinked a few times, he stared up at Bucky.

            “Oh, hey,” Steve said with a half-hearted smile, making grabby hands so Bucky obediently leaned down and embraced Steve in a rib-crunching hug. “What’re you doin’ here?” He whispered once they separated, but their hands entwined.

            “Sam said you were here. I brought flowers for your ma.” He pointed to the table next to the bed. Sunflowers.

            “Good choice, she likes those.” Steve took a deep breath and looked at her. When he realized her eyes were open, he shot up.

            “Ma!” He jumped forward and tried to hug her. She laughed and brought her hands up, lightly tapping his back.

            “Sweetheart, careful for the bandages.”

            He backed up and winced. “Sorry. But I’m so glad to see you awake!” He kissed her on the cheek.

            She chuckled, then winced, rubbing her side lightly. “That guy knows how to stick it in a girl,” she muttered.

            Bucky choked. Steve laughed. “Good to know you haven’t lost your twisted sense of humor, Ma. But you’re grossing out my boyfriend.”

            Bucky reddened at being called boyfriend. Also at hearing Steve’s mom say something like that. _No big deal, no big deal,_ he tried to tell himself. _It’s just that Sarah Rogers is badass as shit…_

“I’m sorry, James. I gotta find some way to entertain myself here.” She smiled warmly, if not a little impishly. So much like Steve.

            “It’s, uh, it’s cool.” He cleared his throat, pretending to survey the room. Then he shot up. Steve was staring at him in amusement. “Oh! My parents said Steve could stay at our house while you’re here, Mrs. Rogers. If that’s okay with you…”

            “Separate rooms, right?”

            Steve blanched. “Ma!”

            “Yeah, my parents said the same thing. I get the couch!” He hoorayed sarcastically.

            Sarah grinned. “Steve can take the couch if you want.” Before Bucky could object, she added, “James, is it okay if I talk to Steve alone before you two leave?”

            “Oh, yeah! Of course.” Bucky waved to Steve before walking outside, checking out the vending machine. M&M’s, if Steve had to guess.

            “Steve, I think you should sit down for a minute.” Her expression grew more serious.

            Steve gulped. “Mom, Rhonda said you were gonna heal fine…”

            “Oh honey,” She rested a palm on his face. “I’m going to be fine, physically. It’s just…Well, you know Alexander stopped by earlier? While I was asleep?”

            Steve couldn’t help tensing up, but he said nothing, just nodded for her to continue.

            “He offered to pay for the medical bills.” Shit! Steve totally forgot how much money a fuckin’ hospital visit was.

            “No. Mom, I can find a job, we can—“

            She shushed him with a finger to his lips. “Steve. There’s only so much time, and you know we’re already in debt. I…I think it’s our best option. I know it’s horrible but…”

            “What does he want in return?”

            When Sarah sighed and hung her head, Steve felt like he was going to puke. “He…wants to come back into our lives. He wants to “fix things,” as he put it. Now, granted, I’m hearing this all from Rhonda, Alexander left all the information with her. And he's not going to move in or anything!” She added with a little grin, “I don’t know why he didn’t just go to you.” She did, though. Steve would have died rather than take charity, especially from Pierce.

            Steve hugged her again, as light as possible. “We’ll figure something out, okay?” he whispered, their foreheads pressed together. His ma nodded her head.

            “Okay, now get out of here, Bucky is probably getting separation anxiety.”

            Steve grinned, kissed her on the cheek, and walked out. He stopped and turned at the doorway. “I’ll be back tomorrow after school.”

            “No more skipping,” she lightly scolded.

            He nodded and grabbed Bucky’s hand, tightening his scarf around his neck with his free hand.

            Bucky squeezed it tightly. To remind himself that Steve was there with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okkk, so yeah this is angsty af. fuckin pierce!!! but trust me, this is where it starts to get interesting. the next chapter will probably be a lil intermission, u get to meet bucky's fam, incluuuuddiiinnng older sister rebecca!! cute college girl!! fyi lil spoiler she will have a gf mentioned and that gf is me sry :/ i make the rules yano... ok so kudos and comments appreciated!! all mistakes r mine!!! love you guys again im sorryyyyy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Please leave kudos and comments so I know how you guys feel about it. :-)


End file.
